To Blame For It All
by Niloath
Summary: We all knew Jack wouldn't die in bed. So how did our favorite captain meet his ultimate demise? What happens when an ancient (and slight insane) sea captain drives a whore mad? Let us always remember this as the last tale of Captain Jack Sparrow
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that anybody else legally owns (and if that isn't obvious then something is seriously wrong)

Summary: We all knew Jack wouldn't die in bed. So how did our favorite captain meet his ultimate demise? What happens an ancient (and slight insane) sea captain drives a whore mad? Let you always remember this as the last tale of Captain Jack Sparrow ( and company..... of course)

AN: This prologue is just the end of what Morien is remembering. I realize that it is very short but aren't prologues supposed to be? Anyway my real chapters will be much longer. Here it goes.......

"I'll kill ya Jack. I swear by me ship I will." Jack stopped mid-step and swirled around. 

"Ye ain't got a ship luv." Jack laughed and continued to walk out of the barren sea cave. He glanced around at the algae covered walls. "I figger tide-in won't suit ya real well my dear" and with a tip of his hat he was gone. 

But perhaps it wasn't so funny after all. For if he looked into her eyes just then, he would not see a glint or a sparkle. No, there was nothing there but pure and absolute rage, the kind not human should ever have to coercer. That, my dear Jack, was a killing rage. You should of learned long ago not to underestimate a fallen captain. Never to look down upon a person with no hope but someone to blame for it all. 

Morien looked up from where she lay on the wet stone floor. She was crumpled up like some forgotten rag-doll after Christmas and drenched from head to toe, covered in cuts and scrapes and newly forming bruises. She'd been through hell and she knew it too. Anyone else would have been beaten to a pulp. Morien just looked pissed-off. There was nothing pitiful about her. He brown eyes burned through as she whispered something to herself. Morien smiled then and no one can tell you why. But from that moment on, anyone who knew her, knew her as mad. 


	2. Uneventful Encounter

AN: Well now, I am feeling incredibly unloved (0 reviews) and out of pure spite (and a lot of writers block) I am choosing to cut this chapter short. 

Morien... arguably the best pirate in the Caribbean, or so she liked to boast to herself. Let it suffice to say that she had a different approach to the sea-farers life than most. The facts stand that she wasn't well known, she didn't have a ship (or a crew), hell, she wasn't even *technically* a pirate. On the average day Morien was nothing more that a roof walker, a master of the liftin' lay, sometimes a whore or common criminal. She was known as hundreds of different cabin boys and field workers and wanted as 5 different men. That was the life of Morien Jennings. Yet, for all the titles she still went day-to-day as a drudge. 

"Hell, hell, hell, hell, hell, hell!" "Okay, breath *in, out* breath" Morien ran her long (and seemingly magnetic) fingers through her greasy hair and wiped her sweaty palms down her right thigh. "I am so NOT ready for this. I mean, this is what I always wanted, but not NOW!" 

A shout came from the lobby "Well?!"

Morien grimaced at that voice and closed her eyes as if to shut out the oh-so-cruel world. "Okay, think" She slowly forced herself back to the world of rhyme and reason, back onto the precipice of sanity. "It has been what? Over 10 years. There is no way he is going to recognize me. Especially not stinking drunk like he is now. Besides, Moro, this is your job, you just go out there and do it. When in doubt kick his bloody stinkin' ass right out the door like he deserves" Morien barred her teeth at that statement and felt the familiar surge of confidence she got when she was mad. Perhaps that is why it is an emotion she was so familiar with. Anyway, she took one last deep breath and pushed through the swinging door into the waiting lobby and coincidently right into her expectant customer. Quite literally she ran blindly into the torso of her client. "Bit excited to get a load of me, are we luv? Well no worries I don't blame ya a bit" 

Morien closed her eyes and whispered to herself "Okay, not a good first impression, focus for God's sake Moro! Go by the words you live by, grace, serenity and kick ass!" She smiled sweetly up into those atrocious golden crooked teeth and those horrible quirking eyes. Morien had to turn away before her face had a chance to smirk. Oh how she detested this man! This creature that stole her life, her ship, this son of a bitch that took her independence and stole her freedom right out from under her. How dare he call himself King! 

"Focus, Moro, focus."

"I'm over here luv! See the goods? Ya really got ta stop talkin' ta whoever it is over there. I mean, he's not payin' is he?"

"I will talk to whoever I please, thank you very much!" And with her face still turned away she grabbed his hand and lead him toward her doom. 

Moro hadn't planned on "working the bed" tonight. Unfortunately fate handed her a card she just couldn't resist. A chance to get close to the sea captain of her downfall, perhaps a chance to inflict some all to deserving pain upon his personage. 

But then again, pain needed a plan, and planning was not one of Moro's stong suits. "Take life as it comes" is not a great motto in times like these. So she did her work and came back down without ever being recognized as Morien, or anything out of the ordinary. She wasn't sure if she should be pleased of pissed. Her cover hadn't broken, she should be proud of that but then again, she should think she would have been a little more memorable than _that. _

She collapsed on one of the sturdier bar stools and ordered a BIG tank of rum. Was I really that forgettable? I am nothing outstanding, but really! She glanced over at Jack "Ah, screw Jack anyway. May his bloody life be damned to the deepest circle of hell and my work shall be complete." When it happens, it happens, I will have me share of his pain when the time comes. She sighed, but patience had been fine-tuned down to an art in the years she had spent making her own way. Fate (or her chosen deity) had served her well in those years and as such her time had always come. So she trusted hope and continued to down the entire quart of rum. 


End file.
